Christ and the Powers that be

Of late, we have had much conversation about the role of power and authority in the world, mostly because we are looking for better examples of human beings using such things wisely and without grievous result!

For Christians, we ponder the words of Jesus, who teaches he is “the way, the truth, and the light”. We take strength in this teaching and use it as a compass for our way forward into a world of competition and contradiction.  The last Sunday before Advent begins is a celebration of that power:  Christ the King, or Ruler, is proclaimed by the church even as the world thinks of Christmas as one long season of retail magic!

Yet, we must also realize Jesus said these things about power and God's reign in the midst of the same world we know, where some ancient yet distressingly familiar "powers that be" type worldly forces ultimately conspired to do him harm.

Rome and the Temple have their own teachings, and they are not in step, or in remote agreement, with Jesus’ claim to truth. Jesus is not a king of this world. His disciples will not turn to violence. Indeed, these are strange words for Empire to hear, a kingdom deeply vested in having the right amount of troops, weaponry, and control at all times.

When brought before the Roman authorities, Jesus found himself with Pilate, whose questions want to know what sort of king and kingdom Jesus claims. Jesus’ answers are lost on Pilate, as Jesus is not the sort of king of a kingdom that Pilate can understand. Pilate’s career was built upon the dominance of empire. The Temple elite vested their authority through mostly economic maneuverings. In his fine robes, Pilate seems the epitome of “the ways things are to be”, whereas Jesus, roughed up from his captors’ handling, appears to bear the consequence for speaking against “the way things are to be”.

Indeed, Pilate’s question about kingship is turned to a question of truth. Not the “truthiness” of Empire or Temple, the sort of truth that is good for the moment, Jesus seeks to witness, to embody even, the truth of the world as God intends it to be. The truth of Pilate and the Temple will unveil itself within the next generation as a local uprising will result in the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple itself. As for the Church, the early Christians will experience great hardship and persecution themselves, yet it will be the truth Jesus offers that shall allow them great strength and endurance. Pilate’s cynicism demonstrates the hard heart of the world. In hearing the truth, Pilate only hears what he wanted to hear. “What is truth?” is not the beginning of a new sort of conscience taking root. Indeed, with a dismissive sneer, Pilate sends Jesus away for the next step toward the cross.

What sort of people, what sort of “kingdom” is formed by this story? It seems to end with tragedy, yet the gospel reshapes the status quo in the resurrection of Jesus. The kingdoms of Rome and Temple, the “middle men” of Pilate and the Temple elite, shall not stand, even though they seem to hold all of the cards right now. What sort of people does this story intend to empower?

I recall the writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German Christian whose career as a gifted theologian and teacher was cut short by the tumult of the Second World War. Bonhoeffer saw the effect of another sort of Empire on the rise, growing in power and might, rising above the reproach of question and fashioning its own “truth” as the way things ought to be.

 While Bonhoeffer would die in the last days of the Second World War at a concentration camp (sentenced to death as part of a failed plot to kill Adolf Hitler), his writings remain as a counter-witness to the powers of his day. While living in the turbulence of the times, Bonhoeffer offered a counter-witness to the “way things are to be” being impressed upon his nation.

As he taught seminary students in the mid-1930s, he offered lectures that became his book called “Discipleship”. Therein, Bonhoeffer mentions this same Johannine text in passing as he describes what sort of discipleship is required by the gospel. He writes, “If it engages the world properly, the visible church-community will always more closely assume the form of its suffering Lord” (Discipleship, Dietrich Bonhoeffer Works, vol. 4, English translation. Fortress Press, 2003, p. 247-8).

The same question that confused the powers is the same question that challenges (perhaps “haunts”?) the Church. How do we hear this story? Is through ears and hearts shaped by the world, or by those shaped by the gospel? There are stories at competition within us, being of the world and not of the world.

What does it mean to take leave of “the ways things are to be” and “more closely assume the form of [our] suffering Lord”?

Remembering Ourselves Rightly: Exploring Ian McKellen's Mr. Holmes

Mr. Holmes is a new film starring the venerable actor Ian McKellen. In recent years, McKellen has gained new audiences as a superhero villain (Magneto in the XMen films) and a wizard (Gandalf in the two trilogies of The Hobbit/Lord of the Rings).  For decades, McKellen has worked on stage and film, lauded for his performance. Without a doubt, this new film showcases the fruitfulness of his long career.

Without spoiling key plot points of this film or its source material (a 2005 novel A Slight Trick of the Mind written by Mitch Cullen), let me share some thoughts:

McKellen portrays an aging Sherlock Holmes, predominately in his extreme latter decades, dealing with a diminishing physical capacity with the telltale signs of forgetfulness hinting the fog of dementia slowly settling in his mind.  Some parts of the film depict Holmes at the end of his illustrious career as a consulting detective, working alone as his trusty companion Dr. Watson married and no longer living on Baker Street.  McKellen deftly shows a dapper Holmes, working away at a case that confounded the authorities, juxtaposed with the man in his elder years, living alone, save a housekeeper and her young son.  There are times when the camera closes in on the aged Holmes, with McKellen showing a man in his late winter years, and they are hard, lingering days of diminished capacities and deep regret.

The film highlights the housekeeper’s son, who finds a mentor figure in Holmes, who warms to the boy’s curiosity and even shows him how to maintain the bee hives that Holmes spends most of his daytime fussing over.  The son explores Holmes’ upstairs study and finds a folder of the old man’s writings.  He becomes fascinated by Holmes’ attempt at writing the story of a case from years ago.  It turns out that Dr. Watson wrote a version of this case, which turned out to be Holmes’ final case.  Holmes, however, retells the case, trying to understand what happened in a different light. Far from triumphant, Holmes’ recollection of these events demonstrates why Holmes retired and moved off to a largely solitary existence out in the countryside.

The film revolves around memory and the way we tell our stories.  Holmes struggles with memory, yet he is driven by his lingering regrets to regain enough of his recall that he can revisit the details of his last case.  Holmes tries a variety of treatments, including a lengthy trip to Japan to gather a rare plant said to have restorative, memory boosting qualities.  The flashbacks to the events of his last case are hard won, moments of clarity that he rushes to capture in his prose.  The housekeeper’s son presses him on details, wanting to know what happened next.  Holmes appears at times uncertain of his ability to remember as well as his fear of what his memories will reveal about past mistakes and sorrows.

 While in Japan, Holmes encounters firsthand the survivors of the nuclear bombings, wandering through society as barely acknowledged victims of war.  While a smaller subplot, the scenes of his recent trip to Japan resonated as I saw the film a few days before the 70^th anniversary of the bombings.  Historians and educators continue to lament the resistance from certain quarters in public and political circles to displays and retrospectives that examine the costliness of such decisions.  Holmes staggers down the street in disbelief and overwhelmed by what he beholds.  As I watched this, I reflected on the irony that it might be safer for some that this honesty be confined to an art house film rather than in a more public venue such as the Smithsonian, where in 1995 a political firestorm ensued when a proposed exhibit would have displayed the fuselage of the Enola Gay bomber as well as artifacts and commentary demonstrating the severity of the bombing’s consequences on the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. See this article: http://www.digitalhistory.uh.edu/disp_textbook.cfm?smtid=2&psid=3498

Working with congregations, I am quite aware that churches share their memories and history quite selectively.  A church may have patterns of conflict or other upsetting incidents along its congregational history, and yet it is only after much detective work on a pastor or consultant’s part that the dynamics and distress come to the surface.  Further, a church’s history can be understood sometimes by reading the archives or the formal “anniversary history booklet” and then compared against the narratives one learns over a cup of coffee one-on-one or just listening to the buzz out in the parking lot after a business meeting.  A skilled interim minister or gifted and courageous settled pastor, and better yet, a congregation willing to work with the interim and one another can be a great corrective and healing experience for such a church, if people are prepared to journey through the fog of memory and learn from their past and own what really happened or got left undone or unsaid.

Watching Mr. Holmes, I took great delight in seeing a master actor at his craft.  I also saw an earnest portrayal of memory and what really needs to be lost and found if we are to be more faithful to ourselves and before God.  Holmes will gain a measure of peace in his late years, but only after he has faced a more sober and earnest exploration of his past.

Of Endings and Beginnings: First Baptist Church of Cambridge NY (1843-2014)

On Sunday, June 8, 2014, Christians around the world celebrated Pentecost, the day of the Spirit coming to breathe life into the newly formed Church.  Early Christians experienced this day as a day when the Christian message began to accelerate, fueled by the Spirit and Christ's call to go to the ends of the earth.

On this particular Pentecost, the small town of Cambridge, NY, near the Vermont border, found Christians gathered for a bittersweet Pentecost celebration.  The First Baptist Church of Cambridge, NY, voted to close its doors on Pentecost Sunday.  While a difficult decision, the church was gladdened greatly by the support of their community.  Two sister congregations (United Presbyterian and the Coila Community Church) opted to join with them in the final worship service, and the other two churches provided the hospitality and some of the food to allow the seven remaining active members of First Baptist (and all those who returned for the last Sunday celebration) to focus on the day's festivities.  Out of such kindness and community effort came a beautiful day of reflection, grief, laughter, music and thanksgiving.   It was my privilege to share the sermon that morning.  Here are my remarks, referencing the Acts 2:1-8 passage as well as some wise words about dying and rising in Christ from the writings of Paul (1 Corinthians 15:53-58):

In rural England, you encounter a variety of old churches, built many years ago and part of the charm tourists find on vacations where they leave the hustle and bustle of London and the other great cities for the open fields and beauty of the English countryside. In the small village of East Coker in the southern part of Somerset, the village church is the final resting place of a noteworthy poet.

The ashes of T.S. Eliot, the celebrated 20th century poet, are interred there with a plaque that reads: “In my beginning is my end. Of your kindness, pray for the soul of Thomas Stearns Eliot, poet. In my end is my beginning.”

As I read these words, I became quite curious. Many gravestones and memorial plaques simply list a person’s name, dates of death and birth, and perhaps another brief note (i.e. the name of a spouse, the deceased’s affiliation with military rank and service or perhaps a fraternal symbol such as the Masonic Lodge or a symbol of faith such as a cross, a dove, or a Bible).

The words chosen by Eliot (or perhaps one of his family members) create a different sort of memorial, reminding the beholder to remember that a place of burial is a sacred site, not merely for the noting of the last resting place of a famous (or just ordinary) person. A sign saying “Here on this spot is buried” is a bit too unseemly for my liking, something for a tourist coming to gawk rather than a guide to the pilgrim, reminding us in a graceful way to recall a beloved child of God, buried with the most humble of notices that here is his resting place. 

Part of the plaque’s text is drawn from Eliot’s own poetry. We hear two lines: “In my beginning is my end.” and “In my end is my beginning.” The first line “In my beginning is my end” would be the most logical sounding of the two. We understand that life begins and it ends. Despite our best medical treatments and procedures, we cannot get out of death alive. Our beginning must have an ending, enough said.

And today, we find ourselves dealing with the complex grief of saying good-bye to a church. Established in 1843, the First Baptist Church of Cambridge, NY, came together when Baptists around the locality decided it was time to have a place they could gather to worship together (and have countless potluck dinners!). The church knew adversity like any other church: pastors arrived and later departed (hopefully never in the middle of the night, destination unknown). Children were entered onto cradle rolls by beaming parents, learned the gospel’s stories and followed Christ obediently into the waters of baptism (the cold water of local streams and ponds likely reinforced their sense of joy when brought back up out of them!). People were born, baptized and married in the midst of the fellowship, first in the original building down the street and in later decades here in this place. And in the end, those who were faithful to Christ were buried, interred in other places, yet mourned most keenly by their “other” family: their brothers and sisters in Christ. 

  An abundance of ministry happened in the 9000 Sundays (and the days in between) for the gathered people called “First Baptist, Cambridge”. Yet, we acknowledge humbly with the poet, “In my beginning is my end”. We know that no one congregation keeps going forever and ever. Every church has a life span, a finite amount of time. 

 When I served in Vermont, I read the History of Baptists in Vermont, published in 1913 on the “centennial” of Baptist churches forming in our neighboring state. Even then in 1913, the historian noted a number of churches that formed and were no longer worshipping within the span of 100 years (a short time considering some churches can number their years in centuries, let alone decades). Nonetheless, the truth remains: no one congregation is infinite. 

Like the humans worshipping within its four walls, even churches come to an end. Yet as we mourn the closing of First Baptist, Cambridge, we also realize that there’s no “final word” on this day’s events until God has given it. For even as the doors will close, the building will cease to be the gathering place of a congregation that will disperse, a good number of things will come to pass well beyond this moment.

Christians realize that Eliot spoke the truth twice over. “In my beginning is my end” we must say with due awareness of the limits of life. Yet with our faithful witness to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we can join Eliot in saying (perhaps even shouting aloud), “In my end is my beginning”.

If preaching is about speaking the truth in love, so must this day not end with mourning. Grief is certainly part of the subtext of a church’s final act of public worship, yet the text of church worship is not “death” but affirming the promised end that not only surpasses death, it destroys it fully. In our hope of the Resurrection, we see that the closing of one congregation’s doors is a time to remember with thanksgiving, tears and tremendous joy the 171 years of worship, witness and welcome that the generations of this church has provided here in this community. We realize that today is a day to cry yet it is also a day to celebrate, for we worship the Lord who turns our mourning into dancing.

“In my end is my beginning”, boldly states the poet’s epitaph. So the church members will disband yet join up with other area congregations. 

“In the end is my beginning”, so shall the church building and grounds become something new and hopefully continuing in its service to the community. 

“In the end is my beginning”, so shall the church’s physical and financial assets live on in service through the congregation’s legacy building investments in the future of this community and the Gospel.

As this day neared, I would mention to colleagues that I was preaching a church’s “last sermon” on Pentecost Sunday. In addition to the sadness the news brought to them, there were also some confessional moments of befuddlement. How can you close a church on Pentecost? After all, it’s the day of celebrating the beginnings of the church, when the Spirit of God moved in the midst of the disciples, igniting the gifts of the many for the glory of God and the sending forth of a movement that would fulfill its mandate to go to the ends of the earth. On such a day of high celebration and birth, why would we bring up the sorrowful note of sorrow and closure?

We celebrate this day that Pentecost is not a day’s events from long ago. We celebrate the tremendous winds of the Spirit of God always moving in the midst of the people of God. The places of worship may ebb and flow, open and close, yet the worship of God never ceases. The membership may rise and fall with one parish roll, yet the Body of Christ is always growing with abundance.

May we remember this day fondly and prayerfully and honor the tears as they flow.  May we walk from this place, knowing that the band of believers goes onward to join up with others around town and in the nearby communities. May we remember that this day celebrates as all the other days before it and yet to come, that the story of First Baptist, Cambridge, is not finished, for it is part of the greatest story still unfolding: the gospel made known through the witness of Christ and his saints.

May we remember as pilgrims each time we think of this church’s ministry in the community, of its 171 years of faithful witness, just as those who pass another country parish church elsewhere in the world and behold the good word of a beloved poet, whose words we gladly revise this day to read:

In my beginning is my end.
Of your kindness, pray for the legacy of witness of the First Baptist Church of Cambridge, NY. 
In my end is my beginning.

AMEN.

Listening for God's Answers Rather than Worrying About Our Own

Discernment.

It's not the easiest sell in a fast-moving, "decision now" type world, yet I would hazard God speaks most clearly to us when we allow ourselves to ponder and more importantly listen attentively.

Over the past few weeks, I have been invited into a variety of church situations where decision making might seem best made "right here and right now".  The need for a quick fix or something to make the anxiety of the moment go away hurriedly is often the mode we operate in as human beings as well as institutions.  We do not want the pain or the uncertainty.  With these churches and leaders, I shared the good word of pausing, waiting and listening.  What might seem best in the moment does not necessarily lead us to the right paths, let alone "answers".  Wisdom comes in the slower and deliberative, not so much when we are rattled or feel like somebody mixed anxiety with Mountain Dew!

Peter Steinke, a popular author on family systems and congregational leadership, published two influential books:  How Your Church Family Works and the later volume Healthy Congregations.  While I learned a great deal from these earlier works, his later volume "Congregational Leadership in Anxious Times: Being Calm and Courageous No Matter What" helped me realize there's a lot of "noise" often going on within myself, often of my own devising.  Steinke's insights into understanding the anxious element helped me understand myself and in turn, the situations I was involved in as well as the personalities and behaviors of those around me.   (Note: Peter Steinke's books listed above are available via the Alban Institute.)

When we handle our anxiety, we begin to think with a clearer mind and gain some perspective.  We realize the energy we expend on frittering away nervously could be refocused into more constructive ways of thinking and acting.  (I often joke we tend to have so much energy tied up in worrying, a church could otherwise power Las Vegas for a few months.)

Clearing our heads leads to the ability to discern carefully what God is calling us to do next.  For congregations considering how to realign mission and vision or facing tough situations (i.e. pastoral transition, governance challenges, financial or property woes), handling the interior noise created by more anxiety-prone ways will open us to the possibilities before us and puzzling out the way(s) ahead.  We can listen for God more perceptively now that we've allowed ourselves to quiet down the nerves and interior chatter within.

What is God saying to us now that we are listening?

_______

NOTES:

To have a good conversation about tough questions, your regional ministry staff is available to come to your church and help out!  Dr. Kelsey offers a workshop around Gil Rendle's Journey in the Wilderness: New Life for Mainline Churches (Abingdon, 2009).  I am glad to come and speak with your leaders about strategic planning tools to rethink ministry and realign a church for missional purposes.  We are also available to assist with conflict resolution (Jim Kelsey) and understanding transition in churches and pastoral seasons of ministry (Jerrod).  All of these services are brought to you by your congregation's support of the Regional Offering and United Mission!

For books on discernment (personally or corporately), authors Judith Todd and Valerie Isenhower offer two great books from Upper Room Books:

Listening for God's Leading:  A Workbook for Corporate Spiritual Discernment
Living into the Answers:  A Workbook for Personal Spiritual Discernment